


Athshaolú Spèir (Renascent Sky)

by WolfIsa



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfIsa/pseuds/WolfIsa
Summary: Spèir, a monk-in-training at High Hrothgar learns he is the Dragonborn and must fulfill his destiny.  He learns to understand the world outside the monastery, other people and even his own destiny aren't as cut and dry as he first thought and being a hero brings pain to those around him.





	1. Narrative poetic ballad as told by the bard, Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of Athshaolú Spèir is an ongoing poetic ballad written by another character of mine, the bard Apollo summarizing Spèir's journey as the Dragonborn. It is not finished and runs in parallel to the traditional narrative following the fight against Miraak. Any time I post a new chapter and have added to the ballad, I'll make a note.

Not all know of the young Greybeard apprentices; the next generation of wise monks on the mount.

But listen close; I bequeath a story. Of one student most paramount.

Found on a ship in Windhelm as a babe with not but an old beaded necklace, a strong Nord lad.

Sent to Honorhall but kept nameless and in squalor for only a time before summoned and destiny had.

An identity was given, Speir and Lok! The sky would cradle this youth so.

Gifted and bright was the Nord, he learned the Thuum faster than a parched man takes to drink, though.

Surely, there was more to the world than reflection on locutions?

For as his head given, his desire was as lofty as the sky in addition.

Concerned, the monks gave the Seven Trials, a development of patience strived.

He stubbornly complied, yet with each task, stronger he thrived.

One day, a charge cumbersome and tiring, take a statue from bottom to top.

A sound, an animal, distant and large made Speir stop.

Closer it grew, fierce and loud until it arrived. A dragon! A beast!

It fell upon the townspeople with fire on its breath and on the brave guards feast!

For a moment, the apprentice froze, Words he heard in the flame!

He could feel the heat, smell the smoke, taste the ash, as if he himself were to blame!

The creature rounded to make another pass, and to the road Speir ran!

As the beast came around and its eyes met our hero's, a Shout from the young man!

“Fus Ro Dah,” clapped against the scaly being's face, stunning it enough to pause its flight, “Follow me, Sunvaar!”

The Nord lead it away from the town, legs beating the ground hard, but with the dragon following, he did not get far!

The being cut him off, landing on the ground with force enough to shake it, “Zu'u fen du hi, joor.”

Fear gripped Speir as he heard the dragon speak, knowing what it said, but he stayed firm as it prowled toward him!

When it got close, its eyes turned to slivers, its breath fowl, so much power; things looked grim!

But the youth decided what he would do!

A fist to the snout, and another, and another! A Shout! A fist! A Shout!

Again, again, he pummeled the dragon down, until his throat grew sore and his knuckles bled!

The creature could not understand; how could a human be so strong? So powerful? He wasn't of its own kin!

Or perhaps? Like a storm suddenly hit, the air around the beast kicked up from inside its very frame!

In gusts it was absorbed by Speir, invigorating him! The dragon realized, he was kin, he was the same!

“Dovakiin? No!” The death cry echoed across the wall of the mountain as the dragon fell, slain!

Speir buckled to his knees, still afraid, sore and panting but victorious! How? Was he sane?

Like before when the monster had landed, the ground shook once again. That Word once more. “Dovakiin!”

From his home, the summons rang and Speir answered. He had many questions for his masters beyond the doors.

* * *

A title, a baring received for devouring the soul of a dragon, Dovakiin! Dragonborn!

Name of both power and hero was given to Spèir, a destiny laid before him!

He was warned of tasks to come. Trials difficult and trying. Tests of faith sounding grim.

Young and eager, he accepted the risks, leaving for Ustengrav, home to a relic to be retrieved.

What a trivial task given to a killer of dragons to be conceived.

The tomb was simple, easy and short, offering not danger but wisdom on a wall.

To noble Nords, to live with courage and honor lest into darkness fall.

The only reward born from this place as there was hardly danger and

where the horn was to lie, instead, a note from a stranger!

To Riverwood, where the letter commanded, our hero traveled and met a woman with the artifact and a demand.

She wanted help for dragons were being raised, reborn from death all across the land!

Delphine was her name, a former Blade, and a rude woman. Her impatience rivaled Spèir's own.

Through cunning she had gotten the horn first, she mocked his mentors and his claim, like spears her insults were thrown.

Out of anger and thirst to be proven, our hero agreed to face another beast, kill another dragon and in doing so, absorb its soul and show her he was as said.

In small Kynesgrove, upon arrival the pair were met with shock and dread!

At the grave where the next creature's bones were resting, another dragon to slay?

From the earth, Sahlokinir burst forth at his master's call and the Dovakiin froze in dismay!

Two beasts, speaking to each other in words he could understand but when addressed could not respond!

The master instructed to kill the two aspiring dragon-slayers and left. The subject took to the skies in preparation for its attack!

Delphine's yells and the cries from the town below finally reached the man's ears and brought his senses back.

Just as he was about to Shout, in the distance he could hear “Strun Bah Qo!” The clouds above swirled and grew dark, a storm full of light and power came at the behest of the blackened commander to aide its under!

But it seemed the sky favoured its namesake instead! A bolt of lightning struck Sahlokinir as he sailed around in air, the surprise and pain wrenching it from its flight to the ground!

At Spèir's feet it crashed, neck snapping on impact and dying right there! Once again, the soul of the beast spilled out like a vortex and was swallowed!

But unlike before, the Dragonborn was not elated or satisfied, he was angry at both dead raising dragon and Delphine alike and scared.

By pure luck, not by skill or power or mercy, they were spared.

But he had proven he was Dovakiin, and he was owed answers once again.

Those were demanded and while he was given them, the Blade appeared she felt as she had even more to gain.

* * *

To defeat such a power as Alduin, our hero needed Words. A Thuum not made by dragon, but by man.

Spèir thought his mentors would know, but they did not. A being more versed did. A being forgotten nearly all man.

Paarthunax, on the Throat, an ancient dragon of wisdom and past power. The World-Eater's no more right-hand.

A debate was had, a lesson taught and while he knew where to find the Words needed, Spèir, for the first time in his life, spent days in place. Meditating, to understand his role, to know in comparison to Alduin, where does he stand?

When he returned to the monastery, the monk seemed...calm. As if the confusion and fear had left.

However, he was not complete. There was still of how to learn the Shout, for to do so, he needed to find an Elder Scroll. This task carried such heft!

To discover the scroll's location, our hero was sent to the college of magic. On the way, not dragons or bandits, beasts or war found him but...Dunmer in masks and robes?

These cultists accused and attacked! Crying _False Dragonborn_ as fire flew from their hands with almost as much fury as the winged beasts Spèir had battled before!

And despite him using the very ability that cast him as that they swore he wasn't, they did not yield and he was forced to dispatch them, though with difficulty.

On their corpses, a note laid. Demands to eliminate the monk, directed from another master. Miraak.

Whoever this _True Dragonborn_ was, they desired his death imminently..

A new choice was presented to Spèir...to continue this path he was on; try and defeat Alduin, alone or go to Solsthiem and find this Miraak.

A recalled memory from speaking with Arngeir said he may not be the only Dragonborn. If this was true, perhaps this new master was as well. Perhaps he would assist in defeating the World-Eater? It was worth a crack.

And so, our hero resupplied in Winterhold and left without even going to the college. His destination was Windhelm and through the ships docked there, Solsthiem.

Oddly...he felt as though he was going home.

* * *

The arrival to Solsthiem was shorter than our hero expected, leaving in the afternoon after arguing with the ship captain and arriving in the night.

However...once upon the docks in Raven Rock, Spèir could feel something in this place was not right.

The elf, the Second-Councilor, approached with much suspicion, not liking this outsider but it was overridden with confusion by the answer provided. Miraak.

Miraak, a name he knew yet did not know. Spèir watched the man's eyes dance as he tried to recall but could only name the stone on the coast. Any more information he lacked.

As it was dark, the monk chose to visit the settlement's tavern, deciding getting some sleep before exploring a new place. A mistake.

A poem...a chant...a mantra...greeted his sleep. In his hands, a chisel and hammer and a desperate voice's pleas upon his wake.

As the dark words from his dream were replaced by the woman nearby's begging, the fog that invaded his head rolled away and he was able to throw down the tools he was using. Only then did he realize, he was at a temple?

This place felt even more wrong than when he arrived in Raven Rock, as if the source of the ill-feeling was seeping out from here like an infected wound on the island and around him, people, all hammering away like vessels.

They repeated the specter's mantra and he heard the name. Miraak... This temple...belonged to Miraak.

Spèir met the woman who was begging the others, interrupting her. There was little introduction and some explanation. The woman was Frea of the Skaal and she was here to bring her people back.

A spell held the Skaal and it seemed much of Solsthiem's beings captive. They worked tirelessly on the structures around the shrine and from Frea's story, more stones like the one the Dunmer had told him of.

Unfortunately, before the man could get more information, more cultists! In a swift move, our hero went in to action, Shouting at them as he got the Skaal woman out of the way with a shove!

The attackers went down quickly in the fire of his breath, and both he and Frea went to discover where they had come from.

Inside was dark and gloomy, the air felt thick with death and domination. What kind of abomination was worshipped here?

That question was answered quickly. Inside one of the very first rooms, cages filled with charred bodies hanging over grand fire pits and further still, more cages, restraints, bones and evidence of the grave everywhere. So much it nearly sickened Spèir.

* * *

How big was this place? Spèir couldn't tell. It felt like he and Frea traveled the twisted depths of the temple for days.

The further they explored, the more often the Skaal woman suggested they set the entire place ablaze.

As they continued, in between battles with dragur and cultists alike, our hero learned about the Skaal from his companion through this nightmare.

He supposed it was keeping them both sane. For Frea to talk of the comfort of her home and people and for him to listen and learn from the stories she chose to share.

Deeper inside, the more disturbing their surroundings got. The disgusting trophies of man, mer and dragon displayed everywhere becoming the norm as the very architecture started to become more odd and dreadful to witness. A sense of fear and worry beginning to peel away at their confidence and strength.

They rested frequently. Or at least attempted to. They needed their minds to remain a little clear to survive the traps and battles in this place as they lay around nearly every corner in this temple's lengths.

Finally after what felt nearly like ages, they reached the end; and wished they hadn't. Inside the most twisted room of all the shrine, an indescribable loud booming noise verberated, chilling Spèir and Frea alike as they curiously looked upon a book. A single gigantic black tome sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by fire but not burning.

No matter what they tried, the fire would not go out. Even the Voice couldn't quell the flames but they both knew, Spèir had to reach that book. Testing, he placed a hand in the blaze and found no heat or pain. Almost as if the fire wasn't actually there. He stepped inside the fire, closer to the book, his stomach churning.

The hesitation he felt to touch the tome tried to freeze him but the closer he got to it, it was as if the book itself took control of his body and before he realized, he had opened it. His eyes tried to read the contents, hearing yells from Frea, distant and afraid.

Dark black tendrils spewed from the pages, grasping the monk and ripped him from the temple room before his mind could even process how far this path strayed.

His vision set upon a place most unsettling. Oceans of obsidian, skies of sick green, towers of what looked like rotten and burned discarded books, their pages fluttering about all over. And among them, horror creatures, the likes of which Spèir had never seen.

The only...normal thing he spotted was a man in a mask. Shortly however, he was also noticed and without a chance to react, he was forced to the ground by lightning from this man in surprise. What was this scene?

The man...was Miraak and he knew much. He held knowledge of his Dragonborn self, of how little he'd killed of his immortal winged kin...how naive his understanding of his destiny was.

Spèir seemed to shrink the more the ex-priest spoke and exhibited his more aged and refined power with a Shout, save for one Word, he'd never heard and finally when he left, riding on the back of the very beasts they as Dovakiin could kill...he'd never felt so small.

* * *

The Skaal were a peaceful people, oddly kind to this stranger.

Little did Spèir know their way of life his pursuit of Miraak did endanger.

Frea had nearly carried him to the village from the temple as his encounter with his enemy had drained him. He felt ridiculous and full of shame.

To learn he was barely deserving and didn't even comprehend his claim.

The Skaal accommodated the monk for days as he worked to recover. His body wasn't broken, he held no illness but his mind...he was in turmoil.

Despite their village being in danger, these odd Nords let the Dragonborn take his time to mend, lest his psyche spoil.

Frea stuck by him during his stay, herself confused and worried about this man that she had deemed the village's savoir.

Finally after days of meditation, Spèir felt ready to move on. He'd spent too long trying to understand his lacking in comparison to Miraak. There was no reason. The man was a monster and our hero wouldn't give him the satisfaction of this self-pitying behavior.

He heard from the shaman, Storn, that Miraak was Dragonborn too but also...a Priest of the Dragons, a betrayer of both his destiny and his winged masters. A revelation that made him realize. Though powerful, the ex-priest was a weak man.

At Storn's request, to save both village and people, our hero left to learn another Word.

While inside his mind, the similarities between himself and his enemy whirred.

Upon arrival at the Wall, he was met with a guardian, a fiendish-looking dragon!

The fight was not easy, this beast was relentless!

Only his Thuum could bring it down as it was smart! Never landing so his fists could not reach it!

It took nearly everything he had to defeat this dragon, his throat burning as if he'd swallowed burning daggers as it fell to the cliffside.

But...just as the sensation of its soul leaving began, he heard that arrogant voice again. That voice owing to the man that nearly broke his resolve with his pride.

Miraak had arrived. Not entirely, his body was transparent but he was still full of mockery. “ _It takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul._ ”

The spirit from the slain beast flooded out. Not to Spèir but to Miraak. Heartily, the monk was thanked for his help before the vision of the man faded away.

Spèir suddenly grew angry...spiteful...insulted. Not upset by the lost soul but by his being taunted even outside in the world where the other Dragonborn wasn't part of anymore with another display.

That his efforts to take down that dragon yielded no reward.

It was then that our hero decided, he had a rival and this rival...he would defeat.

* * *

Power. Power was what Spèir needed to end the reign of Miraak. To stop his domination of the island, of its people.

And so he spent time and effort, under the guise of helping, assisted the Skaal and the other inhabitants of Solsthiem in every way he could think of to find the power he sought.

He discovered a tomb holding another Word to the Shout Miraak displayed upon their first meeting.

Inside, the guardian was another Priest. Undead and seeming to operate much like the dragur he'd killed as he made his way through.

The once-man fought hard but was hardly a match for the monk. Ages being locked away had made it weak and lacking power and it couldn't stand up to the need Spèir brought.

However, once defeated and the Word engraved in him, he noticed...that familiar sound. That disturbing low rumble...

The exit was punctuated by another Black Book.

In his eagerness to confront Miraak again, our hero foolishly approached the tome and opened it, being swept in to that awful maddening sick realm.

But...instead of finding his rival, he was greeted by another voice. A voice that made his stomach grow queasy, made his body grow heavy and his mind flood, overwhelm.

Hermaeus Mora. This was his world.

Despite the dangers this presented, Spèir pressed on, taking the invite from the Prince and he moved through the chapters. He felt many times like he should have lost his way. The world curling and turning and twisting and rolling all around him like a living being but perhaps that was what it was? The Prince controlled everything here. Everything.

After much struggle and eerie guidance, the monk found his way to the end. Another book lay before him but before he could touch it...abominable formations appeared before him. Prying eyes and tendrils that seemed to peer in to his very being met him.

The master of Apocrypha spoke. He offered a deal. The power, the knowledge Spèir needed...no, wanted, in exchange for secrets. Of the kind Skaal, a betrayal so grim.

Miraak was to be replaced. Spèir, his replacement. Something our hero would not submit to. Even with Hermaeus's assurances otherwise.

* * *

Spèir avoided going back to the Skaal for as long as possible. Hiding from all in the wilderness.

Even though he had his own motives for helping the people, he had been named Skaal-Friend.

And taking the deal from Hermaeus surely meant a person's end.

It had now become even in the mortal realm, the ill of the Prince's own affected him. He felt it always.

But eventually, he knew, he couldn't hide. He couldn't stay.

Upon returning, he spoke with Storn and told the man of what was asked of him. The sacrifice that had to be made.

The shaman, full of wisdom much like Arngeir, his mentor, agreed to the terms, much to his daughter's protests laid.

Frea begged. There had to be another way! But no...this was the only way to stop Miraak. Trade one evil for another. Fate decreed it.

Spèir saw true horror that day. For upon handing over the Black Book and Storn opening it, the man was captured and impaled by the inky coils of the Woodland Man.

The entire village watched their shaman's knowledge being ripped from his body, his attempts at defiance only making the Prince break in to a chuckle fit.

Once he had what he wanted, Storn's body was dropped to the ground ceremoniously. Drained of life, knowledge and love.

Then the monk was addressed. Hermaeus, satisfied with his...purchase...opened the way to Miraak then left...as though he was never there, leaving only his tome, the broken and marked corpse and an entire peoples distraught.

Frea commanded him to confront the ex-priest through her tears. “Do not let his sacrifice be for naught!”

And though Spèir tried to comfort her, she turned him away. Repeating her plea, the entire village echoing her pain at their loss.

How could he have done this? Was what his rival had done...was doing...worth this?

He bit down his anger at himself. His revulsion at his own desire for power. What was done was done...now he had to make up for it. He had to show his efforts weren't remiss.

* * *

Inside the Book where Spèir first encountered his enemy, he faced danger at every step. This was not a place for the weak, this book of black. 

Hermaeus Mora, though having helped our hero gain the power he needed, did not make it easy to reach Miraak.

He fought through chapter to chapter, working his way up to where he would receive the final Word to defeat the ex-priest. 

The horrors that attacked him at nearly every moment, he stubbornly fought against, his determination would not be ceased! 

Spèir finally made it to the last chapter. Nothing but a few Seekers stopping him from reaching his goal. And there it was... 

A twisted Word Wall, matching Apocrypha, it's home perfectly, disgustingly mocking history and the Voice. On it, the final Word for Bend Will. 

Upon learning it, like both times before his skin crawled, he felt heavy and ill as he let it absorb and become part of his being, like drinking swill. 

He forced himself to swallow it down as one of the dovah servants of his enemy was coming. The beast began to attack and almost out of instinct, the monk used the vile Thuum on it! 

Sahrotaar landed and beckoned the Dovakiin to climb on his back, to ride him to the summit and meet his rival. The experience was exilarating and terrifying. His wonderment on the possibilities of this power equal to that of his anxiousness of the fight ahead. 

That was...until a thought struck him like lightning from a great storm. A chance to defeat the arrogant former priest and ensure his survival. 

* * *

The dragon landed, being insulted by Miraak for being tamed by Spèir despite this meeting being his goal all along.

Miraak proudly announced his plan, to kill him and absorb his soul like the dov they both had before and finally be free of Hermaeus's control. All the while, the monk's tongue ran along itself in his mouth, preparing.

Soon, the battle was on! The mystical armor Miraak donned as a show of his power when he was first discovered now shielded them both, the light of its abilities flarring! 

The arrogant mage began to run, firing bolts of magic at Spèir as he followed! Taunting words flew from behind his mask before being met with, “Gol Hah Dov!” 

The first time caught him off-guard, the second began to weaken him! 

Over and over, Spèir Shouted! Miraak tried to resist, commanding he was the master of his own but his protests were drown out by the Last Dragonborn's Thuum! Until his resolve was decimated. Spèir approached him and commanded him now. Defy the Prince!

Hermaeus Mora was not contented to let his prize servant leave. The booming angry voice quaked the tower, the skies filling with those foul tentacled eyes, “Did you think to escape me?!”

Suddenly, the grounds were filled with all manner of abhorrent creations from the realm! Seekers, Lurkers, souls of the damned who were lost to the Prince, all in obedience to kill both the defiant Dovakiin! 

Despite their combined power and abilities, the battle was rough and lasted long! Hermaeus sent wave, after wave of minions, his ire fueling the attacks!

And just as Miraak and Spèir were growing tired, their throats burning from their Thuum, their bodies aching, one final battle came! 

The two banded together and both attacked the gargantuan Lurker! Magic and fist and Voice tearing away at its deformed body until finally! Finally...it was struck down! 

Hermaeus seeming to relent... Spèir approached his once rival again, presenting a new plan for Miraak to leave Apocrypha and fulfill his destiny. He would help the monk in defeating Alduin for his freedom.


	2. Traditional Narrative - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of the traditional narrative, following the fight with Miraak at the Summit of Apocrypha.

After defying Hermaeus Mora, Spèir had to spend some time waiting for the rest of the plan to get Miraak out of Apocrypha to take effect. Severing the hold the Prince had on the ex-priest was only part of it, the rest was getting power to him without the use of subjugated Solsthiem locals or going on a dragon killing spree. This ended up being a creative effort that had no guarantee of working. In fact, the very idea was pretty ludicrous. Spèir spent a good amount of time meditating on Miraak’s own name. It was Dovahzuul and thus subject to the typical analysis any of his meditation sessions on Dov words were but his idea was the possibility that he could essentially summon Miraak from Oblivion like he summoned the power from Shouts. To his, and Miraak’s surprise, after only a day of the effort, the man appeared in the mortal realm. Right at his temple with most of his powers still intact.

The two met a few days after, both taking time to recover from their battle at the summit. Miraak’s ego having only been lightly humbled by being brought back and from no longer being a pawn under the Woodland Man’s control, but he did manage a nugget of gratitude to express to Spèir when the monk entered the camp he and a few still loyal cultists had set up on top of his temple.

At first, they didn’t speak very much. It was...awkward, to say the least… Even proper introductions were difficult to get through since the First would only refer to the monk as Dragonborn. Even after learning his name; then it became Dovahkiin. Which wasn’t even a change. He even tried to compromise, asking Miraak to call him Ysmir, which was a name and a title, that didn’t work either because the man _refused_ to use something from the Greybeards and thus he figured out why Miraak wouldn’t use his name either. It had also been given to him by the monks as Grelod had never bothered to name him.

Eventually, Spèir came up with an idea to deal with the stubbornness he was presented with and told Miraak the meaning of his name and stated he could use the Dovahzuul equivalent instead. 

The blond didn’t even know if he would considering how obstinate about the entire name/title situation he had been thus far but...the next morning…

* * *

“ _Lok_ , wake up.”

“Wha--what?” the monk mumbled sleepily, a single eye cracking open to see Miraak, maskless, standing over him, an expression of annoyance painting the man’s face.

“There’s someone here. Uninvited. Get up.”

Normally, Spèir wouldn’t have reacted but no one knew what he had done. That he had brought the island’s tormentor out of his prison. Thus, he shot up from his bedroll, braids a mess, eyes still half open. 

He instructed the ex-priest to stay in the tent with the cultists, who were still sleeping, until he came to get them to avoid this guest from seeing them. It was already suspicious having a camp set up on top of the temple and being seen with people who very clearly were followers of Miraak, wouldn’t go over well with whoever was there.

Spèir exitted the tent, closing the flap behind him as he looked over to the stairs to spot who had arrived, promptly forming a lump in his throat.

Frea.

Of all the people that would show up, it had to be her. 

The Skaal were probably the peoples who were most affected by the other Dragonborn’s actions and in truth, by his own as well. And here he was, camping with that very criminal, at that criminal’s temple, at the base of until recently, a very sacred piece of the Skaal’s beliefs.

It felt like another betrayal. Actually, forget felt like, it _was_ another betrayal.

After a short moment of hesitation, Spèir finally got his legs moving, heading to meet the woman at the foot of the stairs.

“Why are you here?” she asked, more curiously than accusingly or with any level of suspicion in her voice.

“I ah..,” the monk began, his voice stumbling a bit as he tried to think of a valid reason that wasn’t a flat out 

lie, “I wanted to...make sure Miraak’s influence here was truly gone.” Failure. That was such a lie it pained him as it left his lips.

“You need not worry. I could tell the moment you closed the book. His influence is gone, the land is whole again. My--our people are safe from his evil,” she assured naively, placing a hand on Spèir’s shoulder.

The contact and Frea’s words sent a hurtful pang through his chest for he knew that her hopeful feelings were just that and the truth was far from them.

The blond took in a deep breath before looking her in the eyes, “I know...but I still wanted to check.” 

Frea smiled….smiled and that sent another pang through him. 

“You should return to the village soon. We are honoring Storn’s sacrifice. You should be there for it.”

“But I…”

“You are not responsible for his death. He would want you to be there with us. You are Skaal-Friend. _I_ want you there.”

That...made Spèir nearly as ill as listening to Herma-Mora speak. Not that her words were sickening but that he knew that going to the funeral would be a direct insult to the very reason it was being conducted. The entire reason the shaman had sacrificed himself in the first place was so Miraak could be defeated and though in all technical terms, the man had been...he was still alive. Not thirty feet away from the noble shaman’s own daughter, hiding from being seen for that very fact. 

That knowledge made Spèir want to tear up but he couldn’t let her know. He couldn’t reveal the truth, it would devastate her. And himself.

“I...will think about it, Frea,” he told her, holding back his voice from choking.

“Alright...but please, think carefully. It would not feel right without you.”

Goodbyes were said and the new Skaal shaman went back to the village, leaving Spèir to consider just how big of a wound he had and was still making.

“You are lucky she can’t see how terrible a liar you are,” greeted Spèir as he returned back inside the tent.

“Shut up,” the monk bitterly snapped back.

Unphased by the response, Miraak continued, “Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know?”

“Shut up,” the blond repeated.

“I can’t tell if you’re more angry at me or yourself. This was your decision. If you didn’t believe yourself to be so weak--”

“Shut up!” The air shook from the monk’s voice, almost as if he manifested a Shout without speaking Dov to do so. He glared at the other man, small tears of frustration and disappointment decorating his eyes, “None of this would have happened if you weren’t so despicable. You who abandoned your duty for power, you who sent your followers to find me, you who tried to take over this island just to get out of serving an entity that you willingly agreed to serve from the start. I may think myself weak but at least I am not a coward, like you.”

There was a small glimmer of surprise and amusement in Miraak’s mismatched eyes. “So you have a spine after all,” he muttered in a chuckle, standing up. “You will hear far worse than what words I say. Even should we defeat Alduin, not everyone will view your decision to use my help as a heroic act. You need to get used to hearing the truth.”

“I know that but once we get back to Skyrim--”

“No one will have to know?” the platinum-blond man cut off. “People will know. There will be no hiding, no running. If not through discovery by mortals, then Hermaeus will certainly share the knowledge as it will drive us both back to his servitude. Pretending that not killing me wasn’t a selfish act is just as cowardly, _Lok_.”

It was hard to swallow. Spèir knew that the other was right but accepting it was too painful. Especially when it came from both himself and Miraak. He’d strayed so far from what he wanted to be...from what the Greybeards wanted him to be...from what his destiny demanded in his pursuit of Miraak and the choices he during. Even saving Nirn couldn’t absolve him by this point.

He opened the flap to the tent again, heading outside to meditate. He still had a decision to make regarding the invite and how he would proceed to deal with the Skaal overall.

Once he left and the fur covered the entrance again, Miraak huffed a light chuckle under his breath. “He still has so much to learn.”

Soon Miraak’s cultists were awake and they went about maintaining the camp. None disturbed Spèir as he meditated in front of the Tree Stone, including the platinum-blond man, though he did watch as he ate. 

He felt it ridiculous that even having done so much to taint himself, the Dragonborn was still applying his teachings from the Greybeards. Monks that followed such an idiotic belief. Perhaps it worked for them. Mere mortals that knew the Voice, but he himself and Spèir were _Dovahkiin_. They were above that. Yet...the blond still acted as though he should give gratitude for his power. This...this was why he was so weak.

He still thought the dragons to be the more powerful beings and hadn’t yet realized, even a fledgling Dragonborn such as he was at the very least, equal to the beasts. If he could let go of that pathetic idea, he could, no, would be a being that dragons feared. 

As it should be.

* * *

Hours later, Spèir came out of his session with a clearer mind. One of the cultists gave him a bowl of stew they had prepared, still having yet to speak a single word to him. He wasn’t sure why. He began to eat slowly, almost as though despite having cleared his thoughts, his stomach was still ill from them.

“I’ve chosen to go to the village. I will need you to remain here at the temple until I return.”

“As you wish.”

Spèir looked over at the man, a bit confused, “That’s it? No mockery on how going is an insult, no--”

Miraak raised his hand and interrupted the blond’s assumption, “As I said earlier, you have to come to terms with all of that on your own. I’ll reserve my judgements.”

The Dragonborn squinted in light suspicion, “ _Reserve_ your judgements?”

The former priest merely shrugged. 

Later, Spèir went to the Skaal, leaving Miraak and his followers behind at the camp. Though a short distance, he still felt terrible the entire way there. Beneath his coat, he fidgeted with his amulet; something he only did when he was unsettled and couldn’t meditate or hit something or even Shout.

The warm reception he got upon arriving didn’t help his state at all and it took everything he had to not crack under the pressure from his desire to just spill the truth. Telling them what he’d done, not killing Miraak, would make them hate him and would devastate them. He couldn’t.

“Spèir, I am glad you came,” Frea greeted, her expression conflicted between somber grief and warm joy. 

The man nodded to her, biting back the voice in his head yelling guilt. “You said you wanted me to be here. I couldn’t deny both you and your father.”

“Come. We’ve just finished setting the pyre. We lay Storn to rest now,” she told him, heading to the center of the village in front of the Great Hall.

There where the shaman’s body fell as Hermaeus took him from his people, a pyre was erected, the man’s body adorning the top. Fanari and Baldor both held torches, Frea grabbing one as well after settling Spèir among the others. There was a speech commending the All-Maker and that they prepared to send Storn to him, followed by the three torch-bearers approaching the wood and setting it ablaze.

The blond continued to fiddle with his amulet as the funeral played out before him, his throat, and eyes, and heart all aching with the agonizing secret he kept to himself. 


	3. Traditional Narrative - Chapter 2

After the funeral, Spèir joined Frea in her father’s...well, he supposed now her shack. He took a seat at the table, still fidgeting with his amulet, and the woman noticed. 

“What is that?”

The monk raised his head to look at her for the first time since the invite. “I’ve had this since I was an infant along with my woading,” he replied.

Frea approached him, moving to take a closer look. 

“It is Skaal in design.”

That revelation shocked Spèir and he immediately took the necklace off, holding it out to her. 

“Is it like yours?” he questioned as she grabbed it to analyze it further.

“It cannot be like mine, there is only one like m-” the new shaman cut herself off, her eyes flashing to meet the other’s. “This is the Amulet of the All-Maker!”

“The what?”

“The Amulet of the All-Maker! It is said to only come in to being when the chosen of the All-Maker is born!”

The blond man was still confused and he took back the beaded necklace.

Frea knelt before him, “If you had this as a babe and always had markings, then you are All-Maker Chosen.”

“What does that even mean? Chosen for what?”

“Storn told me this story when I was a girl. A child would be born from no mother bearing permanent woading across their skin and a special amulet branded with the mark of the All-Maker. They would appear in the village in a time of great need and save the Skaal.”

“Was that it? Just someone who saves the Skaal? What about after?”

“I do not know. That was all of the story my father told me.”

Spèir’s eyes traveled to the amulet in his hand and he bent over, staring at it. 

After a few moments of silence, the woman stood back up, heading to add some wood to the fire and let the monk have some space. Meanwhile, Spèir sat, continuing to stare at his amulet. 

What in Oblivion was he meant to do with this information? He didn’t feel like he had done much _saving_ when it came to the Skaal. 

Sure, he had broken the influence Miraak had on them, stopped them from being slaves but...all of their secrets were surrendered to Hermaeus Mora, their ultimate enemy to do so. How was that saving them?

* * *

It had to have been at least another hour before the blond man broke his trance and looked up from the amulet. 

“You should take it, Frea.”

The Skaal woman had been sitting at the side of the table eating, stopping after the man spoke.

“I cannot. I will not. I am not All-Maker Chosen.”

Spèir turned to face her, “So what? It’s just an amulet. I can give it away if I choose.”

“It is part of you, Spèir. I cannot explain why, or how, but it is. Thus, I cannot take it even if offered.”

He was starting to get frustrated. “I _can’t_ keep it.”

“Why do you think so?”

The man clutched the necklace in his fist, eyes shooting to the side for a moment. A painful lump formed in his throat again before he swallowed it down and met Frea’s eyes again. “I’m no saviour. Miraak isn’t dead.”

“His taint on the land is gone though? I can feel it. Even now. Are you sure?”

“He is waiting at the camp at his temple right now.”

Now it was Frea’s turn to get angry. She stood up from her seat and stormed to the other side of the room, crossing her arms. 

“ _Why_ would you spare him? _How--_?” She couldn’t even figure out how to ask the questions she wanted to.

“He was a prisoner of Herma-Mora. It’s...being Dragonborn like him, we’ve got a connection. I don’t know how I did it but using that I was able to free him.”

“So you free him and bring him here? To the All-Maker’s land for what?”

“I need his help,” Spèir admitted, “I can’t defeat Alduin by myself. He--”

“What is stopping him from betraying you as he did Herma-Mora?” the shaman interrupted, still refusing to face him, her voice shaking with the anger she was feeling.

“I don’t know, Frea. He could very well betray me too but I didn’t have a choice. I can’t do what I need to do alone and if I had killed him, I’d have only replaced him as a prisoner. Hermaeus was counting on it.”

The woman turned when the monk said that, “Is that true? Were you to become Herma-Mora’s pawn in his place?”

The man nodded, “And I doubt he’s given up either. Freeing Miraak brought a wrath I’ve not seen from even dragons. I suspect when he’s finished licking his wounds from the battle, I fear he will send his creatures after us, to try and bring one or both of us back to serve him for the rest of time.”

“This means...you cannot stay here…”

“Stay here? What do you mean?”

Frea sighed, “I had hoped to ask you to remain here in the village. You are All-Maker Chosen, this is your home. We are your people.”

“Why do I feel like there’s more to that?”

The woman glanced away again, her arms curling a little tighter around her waist, “I wished for you to remain with _me_.”

The oddly shy admission from Frea took the monk off-guard a little. He hadn’t expected her to develop feelings for him. Hell, he wasn’t sure she had the ability to feel emotions as an individual. True, she had said things that sounded like that but it always felt like when she said _I_ , she meant _we_. This time, it was different. She meant herself, no one else.

“Frea...even if I defeated Alduin and didn’t have the ire of a Prince directed at me, I couldn’t…”

“It was a silly wish,” she dismissed bitterly.

Spèir put his amulet back on and stood up, moving to cross the room and stand before her. He placed a hand beneath her chin and guided her gaze back to him. 

“Nothing silly about it. Honestly...I wish I co--”

Frea cut him off, slapping his hand away from her and jumping forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Their noses smashed as she tried to connect her lips with his, only managing a short chaste kiss before pulling away. She was about to pull away entirely after that but the blond man yanked her back in, arms around her waist and he kissed her back, less forcefully than she had but no more experienced.

It lasted for a moment before when it ended, the woman bashfully looked in his eyes again, “Stay here. Tonight.”

He didn’t know or understand why he granted that request, but Spèir did. He stayed there, in the village, in the shack, with Frea. He laid with her that night, and in the morning, despite the emotions both held, he left, unsatisfied and with more guilt than ever before. 


End file.
